


Wildcard

by KittenFair



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Foreshadowing, GFY, Gen, Slice of Life, interdepartmental relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenFair/pseuds/KittenFair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ShinRa Inc. doesn't have a place for <em>good men</em> in their inner workings and Veld isn't the gambling sort, but when a wildcard places itself in your hand you'd be a fool not to keep it just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildcard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karanguni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/gifts).



> **Prompt:** I'd love to see some of the good-old-days, pre-OGC interaction between these two. I think they're two of the most politically adroit of any of the characters in Shinra. How do they deal with what they know is going on in Hojo's laboratories or with Shinra's general economic imperialism? Are they friends and allies? Does Veld ever investigate Urban Development? How does Reeve get away with his robots the way he does?

Board meetings were somewhere between reactor inspections and finance reports on Reeve Tuesti’s list of things he enjoyed doing, in that they had the potential to be useful and exciting, but usually ended up a mess of politics that was sometimes intriguing but mostly exhausting. Heidegger and Scarlet could always be counted on for a good argument, which did tend to devolve into a childish back-and-forth, all the more so with Deusericus proving the SOLDIER department useful in the war. Palmer was a frustration, and he was having trouble determining _why_ he was in charge of an entire department. Even the star pilot he’d had climbing the ranks would be preferable - and really, it was doing Highwind a disservice to call him that, he was _literally_ a rocket scientist. But no one really cared what Reeve thought of that.

He ran the reactors, and had redesigned them so thoroughly that they were down on record as his invention by now; _that_ was why he was still on the board, even though he could have been doing _so_ much more to improve Midgar itself. But that took money, money the president wanted to pour into other sciences. Namely whatever questionable things Professor Hojo was up to, and some token support for Doctor Hollander. Disgusting, immoral things, as far as he could tell. Someday, _someday,_ Reeve hoped to see that change. But today wasn’t that day, and tomorrow didn’t look good either.  
  
Resisting a sigh, the young department head plastered on an eager smile and played his part as the adorably optimistic, helpful, and most importantly _harmless_ newcomer. He could bide his time with the best of them; powers came and went, and one day ShinRa, too, would change. In fact, listening to Veld’s protégé report in on the latest doings of AVALANCHE, odds of sooner change were on the rise. Sometimes, though he’d never say so, he envied the terrorists their freedom to take such a dramatic stand for what they truly believed to be a just cause, trying to change the world… but that wasn’t something he could afford, and not a method he’d risk his life on.

The meeting droned on until Hojo got bored and dismissed himself, the president letting it go - _of course, Hojo leads him about by the noose of his greed; make him promises, he’ll pour funds into your fairytales -_ and after a useless while, the rest of them were released as well. He, of course, had barely gained anything towards the funding he so needed to do anything to really help the people of Midgar. But he’d sketched out a new filtration system to help stabilize the old reactors. Gongaga and Nibelheim needed work desperately, but he’d need a healthy dose of luck to get _anything_ for that.

“So, you smile nice an’ they let you doodle in meetin’s?” One of Veld’s new bloods, another redhead with a wild grin and wilder hair, had slipped into the elevator with him. It only took a second to place the face with a name - _Reno._ Last name, if in fact he had one, unknown to him.

Typical for Turks, though, as was the fierce intelligence in his vibrant eyes. Veld didn’t tolerate fools, and if he was letting this kid run around with a sloppy suit and a telling glow to his eyes then he had to be much more than he looked. “Redesigns for the reactor filtration. Did you need something?”

“Bossman assigned me t’ join you for checkin’ things out in Junon.” He shrugged, offering a smile that made him think of a particularly pleased feline.

“I’ve never known anyone to be particularly _eager_ to be assigned to me.” Reeve mused curiously. “But it’s nice to meet my guard ahead of time.”

“I like travelin’, yo. Especially when I get t’ take a chopper.” He offered a hand for a shake. “Name’s Reno.”

 _I know._ “Reeve Tuesti, but I’m sure you knew that.”

He had a strong handshake, lean hands and callused in ways that suggested a lot of work. Weapon calluses as well, though he wasn’t entirely sure what all was involved. As far as he knew, Veld still demanded his Turks know a basic handgun and some sort of bare handed fighting as well as their specialty, but they hadn’t talked that sort of thing for a long time. Tiny nicks suggested some sort of bladework, but that was definitely not whatever was his main weapon.

Then his hands settled in his pockets, a slight slouch making him appear not _quite_ so tall, an illusion of being not _quite_ so professional, and Reeve filed the details away for later. “You never did answer my question, Reno.”

“Yeah, that.” He hummed softly, not hitting any other button when Reeve selected his floor. “Word is you do a lotta delicate wiring things.”

He wondered just whose words _those_ were, but nodded amiably. “I do a good enough job, getting into the guts of the systems and programming things now and then.”

“Great, ‘cause I’d rather not have t’ let Scarlet have my baby.” There was a gleam in his eyes that suggested his words were chosen deliberately, fishing for a reaction, and Reeve let him have a quiet chuckle for it. Apparently satisfied, Reno produced a rodlike weapon. “Gonna need more power, for the kinda people AVALANCHE is throwin’ our way. Think you can do that?”

It took just a moment to recognize the weapon - an electromag rod - and he snorted softly. Of course he didn’t want to give it to Scarlet, she’d probably blow it out of its sleek proportions and add all sorts of needless extras that were just the kind of eye-catching the Turk _didn’t_ want. Extending a hand, he took the weapon and examined it a moment. “Hnn… probably can boost the charge a little right off, let me give it a look. I assume you’re coming to watch?”

His smile was closer to a shark’s this time. “You got it.”

Well, it was still a vast improvement over the company he’d just escaped.

* * *

Veld wasn’t too terribly surprised to get a call from Tuesti later, given he’d heard someone let slip that the man was good with weapons and Reno had been putting off getting his EMR adjusted for a while yet. He was a little relieved that he’d chosen him, honestly, though perhaps for different reasons. “You needed something, Tuesti?”

“Come get your rookie.”

He blinked slowly at that, leaning back in his chair a little. “Reno’s no rookie.” 

“Good to know; without the tie I couldn’t tell.” And of course the man had managed to get a little information out of him, Reeve Tuesti was a detail man. It was part of why they got along. “I still want you to get him. I’m not leaving for Junon until the weekend, and I know you can use him elsewhere, so unless you’re fishing for something I’d like my suited shadow out of my workspace.”

“Did you finish his weapon?” There was a pause, and the director smirked at the wordless confirmation. “More power only, I’d hoped. You might get Rod coming down there too, if you’re not careful.”

“Surely you have people for this.” He sighed, but there was a hint of amusement to it. “And I did what I could with it. He’s going to need more extensive work to put out the level of charge he wanted, and it would be better to just start over with a better casing that can stand up to it - I don’t believe for one moment he doesn’t hit people with it, charged or not.”

“Never called you stupid.” Veld noted mildly, considering it. Reno and Rude were shaping up to be one of the best partnerships their department had these days. As good as it was to have solo operatives, now and then a team was a very good thing and it would be wise to be sure they were as well equipped as possible. “Think you could make time to fix him up?”

Another pause, and he could picture the calculating look the younger department head had. “I suppose it could be put it up for discussion.”

Veld chuckled softly, always refreshed by his readiness to bargain. “You do that.”

“I believe you owe me a game,” Tuesti hinted. If Reno was still there, Veld wondered what he was picturing. Chess maybe? Certainly not poker, but he _did_ owe him a hand.

“Let me see where I am in a few hours. I might be able to pen you in.”

“Please, like either of us keep regular office hours.” He scoffed, definitely amused that time. “Did you _ever_ work office hours? Maybe when you were a young Turk off haunting the workshops of hard working department heads?”

“It was a different era then.” Veld retorted evenly. “If _I’d_ been assigned to you, I wouldn’t be the one you’d be watching over your shoulder for.”

Tuesti was silent a moment, then gave the little hum that meant he’d sensed there was a story there and would be rolling it around in his mind a while. There was a _taptaptap_ that suggested he’d drummed his fingers briefly, one of his few real tells, and Veld smiled to himself as he waited. It was always nice to talk to someone who didn’t just _babble_ at him. Then, “I’ll cook.”

Veld laughed softly at that, eyeing his workload. “Bribery, Tuesti? You may just make it in the monster’s den yet.”

“Just get your Turk out of my office so I can get done and be out of here in time to go shopping.”

“Mmmhm. Don’t go crazy on my account,” he flicked his PHS open, sending a quick note to Reno - _What are you doing down there, Red?_

A beat, then, _he’s got all the cool toys. wait til you see my emr. think you could get him to revamp it total? he’s cool._

“... Veld, are you _texting him?_ ” There was something between suspicion, amusement and utter exasperation there that was somewhat endearing for the familiarity of another long gone. Valentine would have been amused by him, he thought.

His phone vibrated again, the staccato beats he’d chosen for Reno, and he smirked at the text.

_boss, he’s the good crazy. i can charge this thing with materia & i saw notes for other magic stuff. a magic emr. can we keep him?_

“Oh,” he chuckled, “you’ve done it now.”

Tuesti was silent a long moment. “I am distinctly uncomfortable with that statement.”

“Reno’s an alley cat, Tuesti, and you’ve fed him - he’ll never leave you alone now.” But there were far worse people to get attached to, and he knew his kids - Reno would always be Turks first. “I’m sure you’ll make it work for you.”

“Veld -”

“Tonight, sevenish.” He decided. “I’ll take care of drinks.”

“ _Veld_ -”

“Have a good day, Director.” Veld smirked, hanging up and shaking his head a little. He was overdue for a little unwind time, anyway.

* * *

Reno was _distracting,_ and Reeve finally just put him to work. Whatever purpose he had hanging around him, whatever he was looking for, he could do while being _useful._

And he was _very_ useful, as it turned out; extremely resourceful, intelligent, and just enough crazy to go along with whatever he suggested. Probably was going to make Veld go gray, but knowing him he’d make it look distinguished. He had a way of making things work out for him that way. Unfortunately, the alley cat analogy seemed horribly accurate, and he went home with the distinct feeling he’d be seeing a _lot_ of Reno whether he wanted to or not.

His in-Tower suite was full of the mouthwatering scents of meat, cheese and onions and when Veld came in he turned enough to watch the inevitable pause and deep breath while he took it all in. “Bribery _indeed._ ”

“When you have a good hand, you _play it._ ” Reeve replied evenly, feeling justifiably pleased with himself. “I have an unopened deck on the table.”

“You’re perfectly capable of doctoring and resealing one.” Veld scoffed, setting a case on the table and opening it to remove four lightly chilled bottles. “I’m still checking it.”

“I can never decide if I’m offended or flattered that you think you _need_ to.” He admitted, peering over at the bottles. “Beer night?”

“You made me Kalm Cheesesteak and we’re playing poker - what’d you _think_ I was going to bring?” The cap came off with barely a touch, hardly any resistance to his prosthetic’s strength. “Are you seriously going to design an EMR that can cast?”

“Oh I already _designed_ it, the question is whether you can get me to make it for him.” Reeve checked the sandwiches, pulling them out and getting them plated. “ _Table_ , Veld.”

“If you’re really trying to relax me, you’d have us eat in comfortable chairs.”

“I made you comfort food, don’t _even._ ” He warned. It was an odd thing, bantering with him; Veld was leagues above him in experience, he’d been with the company before Reeve had even been _born,_ but in the end he was just a man. An incredibly dangerous man, and he’d be a fool to forget it, but still a man. And he seemed entertained by whatever their relationship was, somewhere between allies and friends.

“If you keep that plotting look on your face, Tuesti, I’m going to be professionally obligated to interrogate you.” Veld took a moment to remove his jacket, undoing his cuffs so he could roll his sleeves up. He was a master of the art of eating the overstuffed sandwiches, but being prepared for anything was second nature these days.

Reeve didn’t bother to reply to that, taking a seat and cutting his in half with a little smirk at the slight wince he got. “I know, blasphemy. Pass me a beer?”

“Gonna put it in a wine glass?” Veld pushed it across to him anyway, his natural drawl slowly easing back into his voice as he shifted out of the tight mental space he’d made as the Director of the Department of Administrative Research. But the bread was crisp, the onion caramelized, the meat tender and cheese layered thick - forgiveness on a plate, though he’d not admit it to anyone who hadn’t figured it out already. He still wasn’t sure if it was something Reeve had guessed or somehow found out, but the man made a damn fine sandwich.

Reeve snorted at him, popping the cap off his own beer with the ease of familiarity most wouldn’t have guessed. “Now you’re just being insulting.”

“If I wanted t’ insult you, _you’d know._ ” They’d settled on a no-business-over-dinner rule sometime around when they’d both realized this was something they enjoyed enough to be worth the bother of working their schedules together. It was… nice. There wasn’t the weight of history that he had with Heidegger, the clash of personality with Scarlet, the dark understanding he had with Hojo or even just the strict boundary of professionalism he and Deusericus had since the bombing. Tuesti came no strings attached, intelligent and clever enough that he could see him doing great things. Assuming, of course, he didn’t get himself _killed._ “You’re a good man, Tuesti.”

“... was that a compliment, or a complimentary example of an insult?” And oh, he did appreciate his dry humor. “Because really, _surely_ you can do better than _that._ ”

“Statin’ facts, don’t get ruffled.” He tsked, making a pleased sound over his meal. Had to hand it to him, he could _cook._ And a good pale ale matched up nicely, even if it wasn’t the best he’d had. Maybe _because_ it wasn’t the best he’d had. “You’re a good man. Don’t let it get you killed.”

Dark eyes locked with his, assessing, before he finally replied in a dismissive tone. “Way too serious for dinner talk.”

“Just an observation.” He shrugged, smiling lazily. “I do that.”

“When you talk about good men getting killed, it makes me antsy.” Reeve informed him, and was probably one of the few people who would point a knife at him, even casually, particularly when he had a pretty good idea of what the head of the Turks was capable of. “That’s bad for digestion. I’m also allergic to death and try to keep it far away.”

“Deathly allergic?”

“Oh you’re in a _mood._ ” But he grinned at him all the same. “I have no plans to die. In fact, I actively avoid situations where I’m likely to die, unlike some other people.”

“I get paid a hell of a lot better’n you, too.”

“ _Low_ blow to the man who’s feeding you.” Reeve drawled, making a face at him. “ _And_ who put up with being stalked by one of your Turks all day.”

“You fed the alley cat, Tuesti, that’s not my problem.”

Reeve tapped his fingers lightly on the side of his drink, arching a brow. “One day, Veld, I will _make_ _myself_ a cat, and it will be the bane of _your_ department. And it will be your fault and your problem.”

“A cat? _Really?_ ” He rolled his eyes. “Ridiculous, even for you.”

“Not like anyone pays attention to my ‘serious’ inventions anyway.” Reeve reminded him. “Scoff all you like, it’ll be _brilliant_.”

“That managed to sound vaguely like a threat,” Veld said, an amused smile touching his lips. “That’s cute.”

“Right, now you’re mocking my manliness. _Thanks._ ” He huffed. “It’s the baby face, isn’t it? I could do the beard thing. Goatee, maybe - works for you. Probably not the scar, I don’t think I could pull that off.”

“It’s not a fashion statement.” Sandwich a cherished memory, Veld settled back with his beer. “I’m sure you’ll grow up t’ be a very impressive man with a fantastic beard an’ your… cat thing. Assuming you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Mortality rates are lower in my department than any other, thank you.” Reeve narrowed his eyes at him. “I _am_ an adult, you know.”

“You’re not even thirty yet, Reeve.” Veld drawled, amused. “I have _clothes_ older’n you.”

“All you’re managing to do right now is sound like an old man.” Reeve rose, taking the plates to put in for a soak. “Please don’t add any ‘old enough to be your father’ nonsense, I don’t think I can manage to take you seriously if you start that.”

“Less me old, more you too goddamn _young,_ ” he got up as well, going to get the card deck. “ _Not_ playin’ at the table, Reeve.”

“I’m going to come up with some horrendous nickname and mortify your mentee.” Reeve promised, raising his voice so he’d be heard from the kitchen.

“Fix up Reno’s weapon first.”

“I said I was open to _discussion_ ,” Reeve reminded him. “This isn’t a done deal. Want me to grab the other beers?”

Veld considered the level of his own, shrugging. “Yeah, go ahead… you had ideas for what you want, I assume? Funding? Support?”

“For all you harp on how young I am, let’s not add the assumption of _stupid_ \- even if you were inclined to support me in the boardroom, it would only go so far.” He pointed out darkly, setting the second beer down and dragging a chair opposite him. “There is one language universally spoken in ShinRa, and that is _money._ The only thing that I do that immediately makes the president money is maintain his reactors, and as long as Hojo has the promise of a lead to the ‘promised land’ to dangle over his head, my goals to improve Midgar and life for its people are in the lowest priority level.”

There was no disputing that, because Reeve _was_ right. Veld shrugged and opened the deck, tapping the cards out into his hand. “So, you know all that. What _are_ you askin’ me for, then, Reeve? What’s your play here?”

Reeve smiled at him, sipping his drink and watching him flip through the deck before holding a hand out. “I’ll shuffle.”

Veld didn’t repeat the question, knowing he’d heard, and just watched the expert handling of the cards - he certainly wasn’t the only one Reeve played with, there was too much practice there. Part of him wanted to say he had a gambling habit, but it had never come up in background checks or any of the audits he’d run across. He certainly had practice, though….

“Magic.” Reeve chuckled when he looked up. “You always watch my hands, so I thought I’d tell you - I do magic. Card tricks, illusions, you know.”

“Well _that_ just makes me trust playin’ cards with you even more.” He drawled, a bit intrigued anyway. “So, smoke an’ mirrors stuff?”

“I generally leave making things disappear up to you and yours.” The younger man had a deceptive way of smiling that lulled you into thinking he was a far less credible threat. The fact of the matter was that a smile was a _fantastic_ poker face, and Reeve Tuesti wore his expertly.

And oh, the _irony_ of that hit hard while he dealt the cards, smiling all the while. Veld hadn’t gotten a bad hand, really, it just wasn’t the best he’d ever had. And there was no telling what Reeve had, smile never faltering. “Did Red ask what you’d been talkin’ about?”

“No, we talked weapons and electronics the whole time.” Reeve studied his cards, though they were already committed to memory. Sometimes it was just good to have a place to put your eyes, particularly when playing cards with a Turk. Especially _this_ Turk. “I find it interesting that you paired him with Rude.”

“Don’t think it’s a good match?”

“I think putting Reno with someone who designs bombs as a hobby is going to be _very_ interesting indeed.” He mused. “Your department isn’t big on fixed partnerships, is it? Only a few on record, I’d gathered.”

“Mmm.” Neither a yes or no, but it was true; Reno and Rude were the first that looked like they might _really_ last since his partnership with Valentine had an untimely end with his reported death. He had a good feeling about them. “So, you did a little more than talk shop.”

“Depends on your point of view, I guess.” Reeve mused. “It was close enough, don’t you think?”

“Close only counts in horseshoes an’ hand grenades.”

“And bombings.” There was a quick look, a _knowing_ look, and it was to Reeve’s credit that he didn’t flinch when the leather of Veld’s glove creaked softly. He knew damn well that the arm beneath it was metal, as hard and unyielding as Veld himself could be, and sometimes the old Turk wondered if Reeve wasn’t just a bit crazy.

“Do you have a point, or are you _trying_ to irritate me?”

“You’ve kicked your accent again; I’d say I just might have done it already.” Reeve noted smoothly, always - _always_ \- the detail man. And still smiling his happy poker face.

“Even the buffer of good will from comfort food has a limit, Tuesti.” As warnings went, it was a relatively gentle one, but not idle. They held each others eyes a moment, a clever little quirk to Reeve’s lips when he looked away first. Somehow, that never felt like he was giving ground, and Veld respected that. “You’ve obviously got somethin’ on your mind.”

“Don’t we always?” He toyed with his cards, settling on discarding two and getting two back. His smile never changed, nothing but the same glint of intelligence and vague amusement in his eyes when he glanced up again. “Having any leadership position is a bit like a big card game - betting, bluffing, stacked decks and discarding anything that won’t help you win, hmm?”

“And smiling the whole time so no one knows what a _shark_ you are.” Veld drawled, giving him a pointed look and getting back an almost boyish smile.

“No, no, I’m a _cat,_ Veld; I can be agreeable, you know that better than anyone.” A little into the pot, another leisurely turn and quiet drinks from beer bottles damp with condensation while they talked. “I’m neutral, off on my own. Just let me do my business, and I’m happy.”

“But?”

Ahh, _that_ got him a slightly different smile, edged with that sharp _knowing_ that he shouldn’t have. Cat indeed. “ _But_ I’m not left alone to do my business, I barely have the _resources_ to do my business, and I definitely don’t have the manpower. I’m honestly thinking of drafting a little help from one of Lazard’s men - that Second he’s got training under Hewley? Good kid, very bright. Always willing to help people out… might be just what I need.”

“If you’re tryin’ t’ get me t’ offer help in some misguided _jealousy_ over the capability of SOLDIER, you’re not as smart as I’d wagered.”

“Do you bet on me often, Veld?”

Veld took a long drink from his bottle, making a noncommittal sound as their eyes met. It wasn’t a challenge, Tuesti wasn’t _stupid,_ but there was a daring twinkle there that reminded him of another set of dark eyes that were more red than brown.

Maybe there _was_ another reason he put up with Tuesti.

“Like you said, it’s all betting, bluffing and stacking the decks ‘round here.”

“Clever evasion,” Reeve murmured. “I think I’m going to take it as a compliment that you won’t give me a straight answer.”

“Maybe I don’t think you’ve _earned_ one.”

“Is that right?” He looked distinctly amused, a little curl to his lips. “I think I might have to call your bluff, sir.”

“Stick t’ games you can win,” Veld advised.

“Sometimes, you have to be willing to lose a little before you hit a big win,” Reeve said. “Life’s too short to always play safe.”

“Mm.” Another round, up the bets, with barely a change in hands. “Tryin’ t’ strike a deal with a Turk isn’t exactly safe, no.”

“ _Exactly_.”

“But you’re doin’ it, aren’tcha?”

“I think it’s up for discussion, still.” He flicked at the corner of his cards, tapping them into an even column he could keep in one hand. “Clever weapon Reno’s got, I will say that. But I understand his concerns, too; these days, being _good_ isn’t enough to keep you off the chopping block. In fact, being good does occasionally put you _on_ the chopping block, doesn’t it?”

Veld arched a brow at him. “Was that even a question?”

“Not exactly,” Reeve sounded faintly amused, shrugging. “I don’t think you’ll have that problem with Reno, he seems _very_ self aware. Creative, too, which will help. I could see him going far… have I met that partner of his?”

“You’d’ve remembered.” He jumped the bet up, regarding the younger man curiously. “Why?”

“I’d have liked to have worked up an offer for his equipment - things that would compliment each other, while still standing on their own, you see.” He shrugged, fingers tapping his cards lightly.

It wasn’t a moment longer before both hands were on display, Veld staring rather incredulously. “That is a _crap_ hand, Reeve.”

“Indeed it is,” the engineer agreed, snagging a pad of graph paper off his coffee table and deftly putting the cards to new use. “But it was what I was dealt, and even with crappy materials, a good engineer can make _something_. Making things, Veld, is what I do. I make things run, I make things thrive, I make things _live._ And, more than that, I keep things that way. I create, and I maintain.”

“A house o’ cards isn’t the most rousing endorsement for your ability to succeed, Reeve.” Veld drawled, entertained nonetheless.

“Mm, well, I’ve survived in this one, haven’t I?” The little smile was finally a bit sardonic, which Veld personally considered more appropriate. “Not even one in my own making, but if you can’t _thrive,_ then you must _survive_ \- better days do come eventually.”

“That what you’re countin’ on?”

Reeve chuckled softly and stared at his card house, stacked high in a childish mockery of the Tower they were housed in. Then he flicked the side, a quick gesture that sent it crumpling down, and caught one card out of the air before it could fall to the sides. His tone, when he spoke again, finally had the firmness of a businessman - a politician, even, if he ever got over his moral hangups. “I’m counting on my ability to survive, yes, even if the only person who’ll catch me when things crumble is _me._ Because no one is going to make me any guarantees, not when they have other things - other people - they value more. Isn’t that how it works?”

Veld finished his bottle, sitting up and watching him thoughtfully. “Usually.”

Reeve nodded, and the smile was gone from his eyes, replaced by steel will. “I’ll make those weapons, Veld. I will have the initial design for Reno’s new one in your mail by morning. All I want is supplies.”

He considered the offer, rolling the words over in his head. “Supplies. For what?”

There was no denying the catlike effect of his grin now, sharp but not predatory in any way that suggested _harm._ “Whatever I need at the time. I’ll fix him up, I’ll take a look at what your others need, I’ll swap parts and advise your bomb technicians - my skill as needed, Veld, and for all my faults you’ve never denied I’m skilled. I am _very_ good at what I do.”

Veld nodded, agreeing freely to that. Tuesti _was_ damn good at what he did, at whatever he put his mind to so far, in fact. “Just supplies.”

“I have a severe lack of funding.” He pointed out dryly, toying with the card in his hand until it was slipping through his fingers with nearly fluid grace. “I’m not asking you to get me _money,_ Veld, I’m asking for supplies. Parts. Things you probably just end up disposing of, odds and ends - _scrap,_ I’m not asking for everything shiny and new. I’m young, not _stupid._ I’ll take what I can get.”

“And in return, you’re giving help where we ask it, for little things.” Veld mused, turning the offer over in his mind. It was unorthodox, but he could see the logic behind it. Hell, his department ran into the most eclectic range of things _period._ It was potentially a gold mine, for someone creative enough to find ways to make it all work together. And Reeve’s help was no small advantage, either.

“Personal equipment, largely - I’m not a mass producer, that’s Scarlet’s department, but I know my way around weapons and more than that, _machines._ ” Reeve’s eyes lit, and for a moment there was all the enthusiasm there that should have died out well before he ever made it to the board of directors.

Reeve Tuesti was a _good man,_ and in Veld’s line of work that often meant _fool._ Intelligence came in many forms, and he hoped Reeve’s would keep him in the game for a long time.

“You’re a good man, Reeve.” Veld chuckled softly, offering a hand and shaking on it. “We’ve got an arrangement. I’ll head off and let you work on those designs.”

“A pleasure doing business.” The younger man all but purred, pleased with the outcome and rising to see him out. “You won’t be disappointed.”

“We’ll see.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

One thing that Veld liked about Tseng was that the kid wasn’t afraid to have an opinion. He carried out orders, and always made sure to be professional, but when it was just the two of them Tseng had learned to speak up. And even though there were others who had been in the department longer, that was one of the reasons he thought Tseng would make the next director. “Have something against Director Tuesti?”

“I was talking more about giving Reno a weapon capable of creating containment fields.” He admitted, paging through the printout. “Why doesn’t he capitalize on these skills? These are impressive designs.”

“This isn’t something he really does, weaponry and combat things.” Veld explained. “It’s a special case.”

“The whole thing is unique,” Tseng observed, glancing at him curiously. “I haven’t known you to make side deals with other departments quite like this, sir. He seems an unconventional ally.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Veld mused, glancing at the small doodle in the corner of the page, a cartoonish cat with a little cape mid-cheer. “Tuesti’s a bit of a wildcard, but a wildcard can be a good thing to have on your side.”


End file.
